The Season of Giving
by colormenikki
Summary: Post Season 6 AU. Purgatory was never opened and Castiel never consumed the souls. Crowley seeks an alternative, bringing him to a fabled land and an enchanted book. Evelyn needs the brothers' help to save the world. And Christmas... "Little Hollow is...where you live?" Bobby asked slowly. "In Christmasland," Dean's drawl was exasperated, "it's in the North Pole."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi all! Thank you very much for giving this story a go. Author's notes will go at the end of the chapters from now on but I wanted to clarify some things first. (They will also never be this long in the future)**

 **This is definitely not my first story, nor my first Supernatural story, but it is the first one I am choosing to publish. I appreciate reviews and messages more than y'all may ever know, but I am human, so rude/scathing/flaming comments do hurt my feelings. I would humbly ask that you not write anything nasty - though I don't truly worry any of you lovelies will! I just wanted to put it out there, because I write for fun and as a stress-reliever. I am a Classicist by day who studies ancient religions and cross-cultural influences in the Mediterranean, so writing for this show in particular is a lovely outlet for my every day academic stress! I do hope you enjoy what I've come up with.**

 **As another note: as stated in the summary, this is an AU from the canon season 6 ending, so I will be changing many things. If things get unclear, feel free to let me know! This is also a little whimsical and festive at times, but it's the holiday season and I'm feeling merry. It isn't all candy canes and gumdrops, though. There will be some violence, gore, and general sad times. Things every episode usually has, ya know? I will probably not finish this story by Christmas, but I am someone who loves the holidays year 'round, so, we shall see.**

 **And finally: there will be some sort of romance, because I am a sucker for love and warmth and goodness (and I think these characters deserve every ounce of joy this world could possibly offer them - though they so seldom get it), but I have not decided who the pairing will be. It is not heavily important for the plot at this moment, as I want to develop relationships equally between the characters and not have things be like "hey, she's pretty" *instant love, sacrifices self, together forever, roll credits*. I'm not into that. If y'all have strong feelings one way or another for matters of our characters' hearts, please let me know! The rating is T for now, but it may change depending on future chapters/ what you fantastic humans want. I've got the plot, so I'd love to see where y'all want to see our lovely characters go! :)**

 **Title taken from Michael Buble's song "Cold December Night".**

 **Again, thank you so much for being here. It means the world to me. xx**

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 _"They call it 'The Season of Giving'.  
_ _I'm here, I'm yours for the taking.  
_ _They call it 'The Season of Giving'.  
I'm here. I'm yours."_

 **December 5, North Pole.**

A pair of expensive boots crunched the light and fluffy snow of the sparkling North Pole. The well tailored suit that clung to the body of a scowling man was damp and beginning to become heavier and heavier with each snowflake that fell and dissolved upon its soft, black fabric. His face was contorted into a grudgingly unhappy sort. Wisps of air showed up in the chill of the morning as he huffed and puffed his way up the steep hill.

"Bloody _Hell_ ," he mumbled in his lilt, "couldn't have put in a damn _road_?"

He finally reached the top of the hill, nearly doubling over from the high altitude, and cursed his human vessel.

"A lot of good you've done me so far, haven't yeh?" Exasperated, he put his hands on his knees and puffed some more. "Now where in the hell _is_ this damned place?"

Like a beacon in the distance, he saw the unmistakable marker of the fabled city. A red and white striped flagpole stuck up into the clear blue sky, waving around the universal insignia for the place (well, at least to all of its inhabitants it was universal and, at least, fabled among everyone else): a blue snowflake.

"Finally," he gasped out. "Christmasland."

He continued to plow through the snow the entire way, mentally reaming out the little shit who put a spell blocking teleportation powers all over this infernal place.

Crowley's brow furrowed in determination. He'd get there soon enough.

Then they'd all bloody pay.

 **Little Hollow, Christmastown.**

Evelyn had just set down her cup of tea when she heard them. Footsteps sinking into the snow. The sound wasn't light and pleasant like she was accustomed to. Instead, it was a harsh stomping.

 _Human,_ she thought to herself as she got up to inspect the noise.

Little Hollow was just at the crest of the forest – and not just any forest, mind you, but the Candy Cane Forest. It wasn't like you would expect, full of light and brightly colored edible things like gumdrops and sugarplums. No, the Candy Cane Forest was quite dangerous for anyone to venture in alone. It was full of winding, twisty paths and the occasional molasses pit – quite similar to quicksand only much, _much_ more sticky. And of course the Candy Cane Forest was notorious for its overpopulation of Gumdrop Goblins – incredibly nasty creatures with an unquenchable sweet tooth. And, for warning's sake, blood was _very_ sweet to them.

But, the quiet village of Little Hollow was seldom bothered by such creatures, for they daren't travel outside of the safety of the looming candy canes since, as was well known, sunlight burns them up on the spot and they held a particular aversion to bright and cheery things. Fortunately for Little Hollow, every house was covered with lights and decorations – very unpleasant sights for beady-eyed Gumdrop Goblins.

And that was why Evelyn loved the nook of a town at the edge of the forest so much. It was quiet, which she liked, but not terribly far from the city where she worked. All in all it worked quite well for her except when foreigners came because Little Hollow was the first place inhabited by kind-folk like her for miles and miles. It was the first place on one's way to Holly City, home of the famous Workshop.

Now, however, Evelyn was not thinking of her duties for the day or the fact that she would most likely be late for work at this rate. She was more focused on the looming dark figure that was slowly trudging its way through the thick blanket of snow. He was a handsome fellow but obviously up to no good. Evelyn could sense his villainous ways immediately. She, as well as everyone in Christmasland, was exceptionally skilled at detecting evil, cheerless beings.

"Oh no," she sighed out, not prepared or ready to go toe to toe with such a man. But. Another sigh. If she must...

 _I've only had_ three _cups of tea!_

"What a terrible Monday this has been so far," she mumbled before throwing on her bright red snow boots, pulling on her deep green cloak, and rushing out her door. A glance at her wall clock before she left told her she had only been awake for three hours. Yes, quite a dreadful Monday so far.

"Excuse me!" She called out. Her voice was pleasant enough, but there was an undertone of wariness there as she approached the figure. "Sir! Um, if I could have a word?"

Crowley turned around and looked every which way. "Someone say something?"

"Yes!" Evelyn waved a hand, though she doubted he saw it, and continued making her way over to him through the sparkling snow. "Me! Over here!"

The King of Hell looked down his nose at the creature now staring up at him. Planted firmly in front of him she was all curls and big blue eyes and a _disastrously happy_ aura. He couldn't think of any combination he hated less in that moment, except if she were to have been flanked by two flannel clad brothers – the proverbial thorns in his demonic side. "What the hell are you supposed to be?"

Evelyn was quite unamused with his lack of decency and chose to give him an indignant huff in return.

"Tell me who you are or I will _smite_ you on this _very_ snow mound." Crowley was in no mood for games with such small, unimportant beings. Evelyn thought she could see an angry vein protruding from his temple.

The woman before him crossed her arms as a sour look settled on her pixie-like face. "My name is _Evelyn_ , if you must know, sir. What is your name and what is your business in Little Hollow?"

"What are you? The guard dog? Not very threatening at all, are you?." He paused. "Wait a damn minute," Crowley got incredibly close to her face then, "Little Hollow? What in the...isn't this _Christmasland_?"

Evelyn blinked her bright blue eyes at him. "This _is_ Christmasland."

"But you said this was Little Hollow."

"It is."

"But you _just_ said it was _Christmasland_."

"That too."

Crowley threw his arms up, "How the hell can it be _both_?"

Evelyn narrowed her eyes and answered slowly so that this daft being would understand, "Because...it... _is_."

Crowley gave her an evil look and it chilled her blood, something not even the fluffy snow could do. "I've had it with you, you tiny little minx. Tell me how to get to the damned book or I'll rip your head off."

Evelyn opened and closed her mouth several times before being able to answer. _Well, what good would ripping my head off do? Then he would never find out...and the snow would look so awful covered in blood..._

His anger was giving her anxiety. She wasn't fond of angry people, _especially_ when she hadn't had enough caffeine.

She tried to appear as innocent as possible, not wanting her shoulders to be made decidedly lighter any time soon. "What book?" Crowley took notice that she was beginning to edge her way back to her little cottage.

"Oh _no_ you don't!" He threw out a hand and grabbed a fistful of her golden curls. As she was yanked back towards him, a cry of pain left her lips and echoed all around them. She prayed none of her neighbors heard. If they came out to investigate there was no telling what this horribly enraged man would do to them. Her eyes flickered over to the Candy Cane forest. They would never come out from their hidden lairs, but if someone were to throw her in there...she wouldn't survive and she knew it. She clung to the hope that he had no idea what lie beyond the striped borders and wouldn't use that to his advantage.

Crowley tipped his head to the side as he saw something peculiar sticking out on either side of her head.

"Aha!" He held her up off the ground by her hair. "An elf! I _am_ in the right place!"

"I never said you weren't!" Evelyn protested, clawing at his hands to get him to let her go. Her hair pulled painfully at her scalp. "Now put me down, would you? You'll wrinkle my good cloak!"

"Oh, no, I don't think I will," he set her down but spoke to her sinisterly, keeping a firm hold of her hair still. "You see, I need that book, and _you're_ going to get it for me."

She crossed her arms and tried to ignore the pounding in the back of her head. "Or what?"

"Or I kill every last happy soul in this damned place."

 **Yuletide Museum and Archives, Holly City**

"Evelyn!" A tall man with a blue holiday hat yelled out as Crowley burst through the doors of the exquisite building. The woman in question was still grasped firmly by the hair. The demon turned king took a moment to admire the gothic architecture and the breathtaking, carved stonework that paneled the room. The vaulted ceiling was painted with a bright and colorful scene showing canonical stories of Christmas. Crowley nearly gagged.

"Do you lot _ever_ get sick of Christmas?"

"And just who do you think you are?" The tall man asked harshly, stalking over to where Crowley and Evelyn were. Evelyn was roughly shoved forward, her knees scraping against the worn, stone ground.

"Jeremy, don't," Evelyn warned ignoring the stinging of her skin and the general discomfort her body was experiencing. She tried to reach out to her friend but Crowley fiercely yanked her back and chided her by clicking his tongue.

Jeremy had already taken notice of her bloodied and bruised knees along with the smudges of dirt on her face from being dragged every which way. He launched himself forward and Evelyn watched in horror as the elf that she had worked alongside of for many, many years dropped dead at the hands of the monster who was pulling on her long locks even more impatiently now.

"Pointy-eared idiot. _Move_ ," Crowley ordered her, stepping over the fallen body of Jeremy. His eyes remained open and they seemed to bore into Evelyn as they passed him. She whispered a few parting words to him and tried to keep her tears at bay. This really and truly had been an awful Monday.

Evelyn reluctantly, for she feared if she did not do as he said she would surely lose her life just as Jeremy had, led Crowley to a heavily secured room equipped with state of the art cameras and censoring systems. The space was grand, the walls were flecked with gold, and the scent of gingerbread wafted through the air. A brilliant light fixture shown down like Heaven's rays upon a glass display case, inches thick, and fitted with a laser detection system. Inside the glass was what Crowley had come for.

"Get it for me."

Evelyn had taken enough. "No."

Crowley raised his eyebrows, "No? Well, you've been quite useful up 'til this point, love. It's a shame to waste such a pretty face. Even if you are a mangey elf."

Evelyn held her arms over her face to brace herself as Crowley reached up, ready to end her right then and there. He was interrupted, thankfully, _blessedly_ , by a loud _boom!_ and a barrage of angry shouting and hollering coming their way.

"What in the god damn...?"

Several dozen elves pushed their way into the room, armed to the teeth with deadly weapons. Crowley sighed, exasperated. Today just hadn't been his day _at all_. Evelyn had been thinking the exact same thing since she'd walked out her door.

"I thought you all were happy creatures?" He spat out towards the small army.

"We are," came a booming voice, "until someone comes and threatens our home."

A man stepped in, glory radiating around him and his usually jovial face adorned with a frown. His build was strong and well defined muscles rippled underneath the red fabric of his thermal shirt. His biceps bulged and flexed. Powerful forearms revealed themselves as he pushed his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Crowley noted his tremendous white beard and rolled his eyes. Some things just never changed.

"Hello, Nick," he greeted with no emotion or gladness whatsoever.

"Crowley," Nick nodded back with not much more pleasantry. "Mind telling me what you're doing invading my city?"

Crowley pointed at the glass case. Inside of it sat a book, huge and filled with glittering, scrolling lettering. Its pages were seemingly endless, the volume and mass of such a thing surely weighing more than the average man could ever hope to lift. Crowley knew, however, that the book was enchanted and if he could just get his hands on it he'd be able to carry it out of this cheerful hellhole.

"I want that," he stated simply. Evelyn rolled her eyes though not really in any position to be cheeky. Her head throbbed, her knees ached, and she couldn't rid the vacant eyes of Jeremy from her mind.

"Well, you can't have it," Nick countered. "It belongs to me and it stays here."

"Ah, but does it belong to you?" Crowley asked in his deceptive and conniving tone. "Or do you just keep it safe for the _actually_ important guy?"

"Your mind games won't work on me, Crowley," Nick told him, deepening his frown and crossing his incredibly thick arms across his chest. "You know today is a big day, so why come now? And why come alone?"

"Ah, yes, eternal training for the yearly wrestling match and all that fun stuff." The demon rolled his eyes, "Honestly I don't even know why you still do that. Wouldn't it just be easier to lock his ass down in Purgatory?"

"And risk idiots like you letting him out? Look what _almost_ happened not even three months ago. No, I'd much rather have it this way. The arrangement has worked thus far."

"Oh, good. So instead of doing the smart thing you just get yourself beat into oblivion each year." Crowley nodded with a sarcastic look to match his tone, "Brilliant, Nick, simply brilliant."

Nick rolled his eyes. Although he was an older man, he was still pretty intimidating and he radiated saintly power. He stepped right up to Crowley and towered over him despite the demon's tall height.

"Leave my city now or I swear you will _not_ be in the spirit to do much of anything else for the rest of eternity."

"Um," Crowley pretended to think, "I think we'll do things my way."

"Wha-"

But before Nick could finish his sentence, the demon king had thrust his hand out and crushed the souls out of every elf in the room besides Evelyn. Crowley thought that _hey_ , she wasn't armed and she wasn't a threat at all. Maybe she would even make a good little minion one day. Plus, someone needed to tell the story of how a demon decimated the most holly-jolly place on Earth and effectively ruined Christmas for every snot nosed brat in the world.

Nick flew backwards and crashed into the wall behind him, the stone absorbing the force of his impact and taking his breath along with it. He locked eyes with Evelyn who stood terrified in the corner and mouthed one word to her. She frowned as he frantically wrenched his head towards the door, signaling for her to run. He then eyed his watch and Evelyn did the same, both noting that they had no time left.

A mighty roar echoed throughout the town.

"Oh my," Crowley smiled devilishly. "You're late for your little rendezvous, aren't you, Nick? Fabulous timing I have, I must say."

Nick watched Crowley blast open the glass case, alarms going off and mixing with the sound of the roaring from outside. "Looks like your little city is going to be in for quite a surprise, and not the merry kind."

"I'll deal with you after I deal with him," Nick seethed out.

"Oh, by then I'll be _long_ gone," Crowley lifted the book out of the case, "And so will you. Come along now, Nicky."

"You can't make me leave, you evil son of a–" Another roar tore through he town, this time _much_ closer.

"Don't be such a child. Yes, yes I can," Crowley stated matter-of-factly.

"Lowly demons can't make _Saint_ Nicholas do _anything_."

Crowley smirked. "They can when they've been promoted to _king_."

Nick peered warily around the corner, searching for the oncoming beast, and then looked back at Crowley, "King of _what_?"

Crowley held out his hand, "King of Hell."

Evelyn watched, horrified, as Nick, Crowley, and the book disappeared without even a _'pop'_. Then the screaming started from outside in the city. With no time to lose, she bravely rose from her squished position in the corner to sprint out of the museum and into the heavily crowded, snowy streets of Holly City. It was brighter than it had been when Crowley had dragged her into the building and Evelyn knew that it wasn't because the sun was now high in the sky.

The city was on fire.

Elves were running every which way and Evelyn could barely distinguish the civilian elves apart from the police elves. Everyone was scrambling to get off the streets, into a store, a restaurant, back to the villages, _anywhere_ but the center of the city. A quick glance up Main Street would be a pretty good indicator on why.

Evelyn couldn't stomach looking at him. She kept her eyes down to the ground and ran as fast as she could down the streets of Holly City. The only thing on her mind was that she _had_ to get to Little Hollow and she had to get there _fast_. Her short legs could only carry her so far, but she knew she would make it. All those trips to the gym hadn't been for nothing, she supposed. Plus, elves came blessedly equipped with surprisingly tough natural stamina.

After literally crashing through her front door (and trying not to cringe as she knocked over her favorite gingerbread house replica), she scrambled around trying to gather essential things in her leather knapsack. She was so frazzled that she nearly forgot the most important item. Quickly, she shoved that in too. The distraught elf tried her hardest not to listen to the screaming of the villagers in her little nook of the Pole. With a start, she realized where they would head. A horrible feeling of dread was beginning to make a permanent home in her stomach. The knot was twisting itself inside of her and the elf felt that she might double over from the pain of it all. She steeled herself, grit her teeth, and zipped outside, throwing her bag over her shoulders as she went.

She was just in time to be _out_ of time.

She saw the last of her neighbors disappearing into the Candy Cane Forest, their bright cloaks vanishing behind the tall, looming canes. A small, round tear slid down her cheek at the new sets of screams coming from within the deep, dark, candy woods. They would never survive in there, not with all of the unknown creatures breeding and populating the dense forest. It would only be a matter of time before the red stripes of the ripened candy canes would be indistinguishable from the red splatters of blood.

Evelyn would take a different route. She was the last person to see Saint Nicholas before he had been kidnapped. She was the only person alive who knew who had taken him. And, to her horror, the possession in her knapsack made her the only person in the world who could stop the raging monster ravaging the streets of her beloved city _and_ save the holidays.

But, she'd need help.

She would need to find who Nick had told her to find – his last mouthed words to her before he had been zapped away by the King of Hell.

 _Winchesters._

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 **Cue the _Supernatural_ title tag. Probably holiday themed, with lots of glitter, jingle bell sounds, those demonic noises, and maybe some blood? I feel that is appropriate.**

 **One more time, thank you for being here. Much love from me to you! xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer, to be used for and applied to all successive chapters: I do not own Supernatural or anything you recognize as being from the SPN world. I do own Evelyn, my take on Christmasland, and some of the liberties I am taking with the mythology. The song used in this chapter is "Blue Christmas" performed by Elvis Presley.**

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 _"I'll have a blue Christmas without you_  
 _I'll be so blue just thinking about you..."_

"Can you turn that crap off? I can hear it in the background."

Dean was still teetering between wanting to beat Castiel into oblivion or pat him on the back and congratulate him for not betraying them all. At least, not _totally_ betraying them all. But the matter of the situation was that it wasn't as cut and dry as Dean would have liked. In any normal circumstance a friend who ended up sticking with them would have been worthy of all the praise in the world. Whatever praise he had left to give, anyway.

But Castiel had _wanted_ to betray them. That was what conflicted Dean. He had gone against them once, so who was to say he wouldn't do it again? He had been pondering that question for three whole months since the warehouse episode with Raphael and Crowley.

Somehow, some _way_ , the tides had turned and Cas had been back on their side. The glass container of blood he held had been another fake – he had ditched the necessary jar somewhere unknown to all except the angel. He _hadn't_ opened Purgatory like everyone thought. Dean was at least comforted that the heavenly soldier wasn't supercharged with thirty million souls. But that had left them in quite a predicament because Raphael had been, to put it lightly, _pissed_.

Some choice words were exchanged and Dean, Cas, and Bobby were all surprised when an angel blade came stabbing through Raphael's chest. His vessel's eyes glowed a brilliant white and a torpedo of grace shot out of the archangel's mouth. An eerie shadow of beautiful wings splayed out across the cracked and crumbling wall. It was morose, but beautiful, and Dean could vividly remember the sight of the once powerful archangel slumped against the stone wall.

Sam had stood, slightly swaying, where Raphael once stood, a look of surprise on his face as he gripped the blade tightly in his hands. Crowley had long since disappeared, but not before shooting the entire room a look that read something along the lines of ' _this isn't the last of me, you worthless bastards!'_ probably followed by a slew of unsaid expletives.

Now, three months later, the brothers were still trying to locate Crowley, positive that he was cooking up a plan much worse than opening Purgatory – if that was even possible – and Dean and Cas were still not speaking. Sam had taken to being the middleman, growing tired of being the messenger after the first two hours, and Bobby had gone back to the salvage yard, immediately annoyed at the _idjits_ bickering over something so stupid (even if he was a little peeved at the angel's _horrible_ life choices as of late). The aging hunter resolved to communicating by phone, since he could hang up whenever he got tired of their sass, which was often, by the way. He kept busy by scouring his library of books for anything that might help, calling the boys whenever he thought he found something, but angrily ranting when it turned out to be a dead end.

" _Dean, you're gonna have to talk to him eventually_ ," Bobby was saying over the phone during Dean's daily call to bitch and moan about everything and anything under the sun. He would call under the pretense of checking in, but Bobby knew that Dean was calling because Sam had long since stopped listening to his grumblings of the day. _"And this song is a damn holiday classic, Ebenezer. If I'm gonna drink myself silly and read these damn books all by my lonesome, let me at least be festive about it."_

" _Bobby_ ," Dean was nearly whining, exasperated and thoroughly exhausted at this point, "he was gonna go behind our backs and open _Purgatory_ for Christ's sake. How can I just up and forgive him for almost swallowing thirty million _monsters_ to fight a war in Heaven? And since when are you _festive_?"

Bobby rubbed his eyes from where he sat at his kitchen table and held the phone away from his ear for a moment. He was really getting too old for this. It seemed like a poor choice to mention the irony of Dean using the phrase " _for Christ's sake,"_ so he kept that to himself.

" _But he didn't, Dean. Don't that count for anythin'?"_

"It used to," Dean murmured as he looked over where Sam sat pouring over volumes of lore books they'd collected in the past few months. "Look, I gotta go. Sam is about ass deep in research and we still don't know where Crowley might go next."

" _I'll let you know if I find something. And I_ am _festive!_ " The line went dead and Dean sighed. He ran a hand down his tired face and briefly wondered when the last time he'd had a decent night's sleep was. The answer would probably only exhaust him further.

"Welp, Sammy," he threw his cellphone onto the cheap motel bed, "looks like Bobby's got jack. Probably a whole bottle of it too, by the sound of it." He allowed his lips to tilt upwards at his own joke.

"Yeah, well, we're not much better off," the youngest Winchester replied, his eyes still glued to the book sat before him, completely missing Dean's not-so-classic pun. "I don't know what could possibly be worse than Purgatory."

"Me either," Dean rubbed his face again and this time wondered where he had stashed his razor. "But Crowley looked pretty pissed so there's gotta be an alternative plan in that demonic brain of his."

Sam closed the thick book and threw his hands up in defeat. His chair made a screeching noise as he pushed himself away from the table, the linoleum of the tiny, dingy kitchenette section of the room now creased with another skid-mark. He tipped his head back over the top of the chair and shielded his eyes with his right hand, trying to quell the headache he felt rising behind his eyelids. The halogen lamp hanging above him gave off a light just low enough that he had to strain his eyes to read from the books they'd gathered. The light from his laptop, even dimmed, hadn't helped much either.

"If there is, it's not known to any of these books."

"Should we get more books?"

A low sound of defeat left Sam as he uncovered his face. He kept his head leaned back and stared at the cracked and peeling ceiling of the motel room.

"Dean," Sam sounded as tired as Dean felt, "I've spent _six hours_ researching. I don't think any other books will do us _any_ more good. I need sleep. _We_ need sleep."

Dean plopped down on the bed and flopped backwards. Even with the mattress padding set around them, the old coils bit into his back. The bed made a depressing squeaking noise as his body hit the top layer of covers. He let out a loud groan and covered his face with his hands.

Sam frowned. "Dean..." He took a big breath. "Maybe you should call-"

Dean bolted up and the bed made another squeak in protest, "No."

"But maybe he knows-"

"I said no, Sam!" Dean angrily stood up and yanked his jacket off the vacant chair near Sam. He his arms through the olive green sleeves and made for the door. To hell with everyone telling him to just kiss and make up with the angel. It wasn't that damn simple!

"Where are you going?"

The elder Winchester gripped onto the doorknob and barked, "Out!" before wrenching open the shoddy door.

Sam and Dean both watched a small figure tumble into their room, a dark green cloak pulled tightly over the person's head. Both brothers looked at each other with wide eyes, all past anger forgotten about. Immediately, they scrambled for their guns. Sam yanked his from the waistband of his pants and Dean quickly revealed his from the inside pocket of his field jacket.

"Uh," Sam let out, gun poised and ready.

"Er," Dean wasn't much more coherent. "What the hell?"

"For the love of- who just _rips_ open a door?!" A pleasantly pitched yet angry voice came from whoever was lying face first on the nasty motel carpet. The brothers heard a sniff followed by an " _what_ is that _smell_?"

"Uh, excuse me?" Sam asked, inching closer, gun still drawn. Both men stood over the cloaked figure, their brows furrowed in confusion. Who wore a cloak these days?

"What?" The voice sounded like it had had enough of _everything_ as the person pulled herself (the voice gave away that it was most certainly _not_ a male) to a standing position. Neither Dean nor Sam could see her features for they were too far hidden underneath the thick green fabric.

"Mind telling us who the hell you are?" Dean kept his gun aimed at her and took a step back, moving slowly over to where the squirt bottle of holy water was stored.

"Certainly not a demon or a wraith or a ghoul or a _whatever_. Please put those guns down."

Dean scoffed, "Yeah, not gonna do tha- _wha?"_

He stopped short as she lowered her cloak to reveal a small woman, normal and pleasant looking, and not oozing or demonic or grotesque. They kept their weapons out nonetheless.

The brothers both assessed her, standing in the doorway of their questionably sanitary motel room and looking like she had been traveling for days without rest. The bags under her eyes did not detract from the simple fact that she was not a bad sight to see at all, but they gave her face a horribly tired look as she swayed on her feet. Her nose was slender, her cheekbones were well pronounced and angular. Dean squinted. Was she human?

She was tiny, small and lithe, but had long piano fingers and a certain grace and poise about her. A set of striking blue eyes sat rounded and wide on her pixie-like face. Sam had seen eyes like those before – bright and full and hopeful. Though he hadn't seen them for a long time…

A mane of unruly golden curls spilled down her back. Dean took notice of her cloak. It was an evergreen color, thick and drawn close to her body. Fastened with a white snowflake pin, it hung down her body but allowed the bottoms of her bright red snow boots to peek out. The brooch sparkled even in the dim light of the crummy motel room.

"I'm an- _ack!_ " She was interrupted by an unceremonious splash of holy water to the face. Annoyed, she wiped her face with her hands and, in the process, brought her hair back behind her ears.

Dean dropped the bottle of holy water and stared at the creature. "You're..."

"An elf?" Sam finished with a note of surprise. He had thought elves were only in fairytales! But then again, Dean had gone up against fairies themselves so maybe anything was possible…even _this_.

Suddenly, after moments of awkwardly ogling the mythic creature, Dean thrust out a silver knife from inside the folds of his jacket. "Prove it."

"Prove what?" The elf asked, eyeing the knife warily. "I do not like to fight."

The elder brother rolled his eyes and flipped the knife so that he was holding the blade, the thick handle sticking out towards the woman. "Prove that you're not another monster in disguise. Silver hurts a lot of them, so prove it won't hurt you." He looked over at Sam and whispered, "What hurts elves? Is this real?"

"Dude, _elves_?!" Was all Sam could manage to say back.

The elf's bottom lip quivered as she took the knife and rolled up the sleeve of her cloak. Her skin was smooth and white, like she had never seen a day of battle in her life. Sam wondered if she had ever hurt anyone or anything before. He watched her press the blade onto her delicate skin and found himself wincing as the soft flesh sliced open. He noted her passive look of pain but also her disgust with the sight of blood. _Huh_ , he thought.

"Happy?" She asked them both. Dean nodded and grumbled something unintelligible before handing her a spare rag from off the counter near him. The elf mumbled a word of thanks and wrapped her new cut tightly, only briefly questioning the cleanliness of the cloth.

"So, uh," Dean pursed his lips and held out his arms before slapping them against his sides, "can we help you?"

Sam nearly smacked his forehead. " _Dean_ ," he hissed.

"What?" His brother shot him a look. "It's just a question, Sam. I'm very confused. She's an elf?!"

The creature in question sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked as if the weight of the world had been placed upon her shoulders and the two Winchesters could easily relate to that feeling of complete helplessness. Dean felt himself shifting uncomfortably. It felt like he was looking into a mirror. A much tinier and more feminine mirror...

"I need help," she finally said, her shoulders slumping.

Sam took a step forward and asked, "Do you want to come in?" He ignored his brother mumbling " _me too_ " under his breath.

The small woman looked up with watery eyes at both men. Dean looked away. If she was going to burst into tears then he was just going to sit across the room and be far removed from everything while Sam handled it all. He had too many other worries on his plate right now and, though he never thought he would say anything resembling this phrase, he just didn't have the time for elves. He wanted to be helpful, he wanted to figure out why she was here. It was in his nature, solving these types of things. It's what he _did_. But he was just so _tired_ , and still so _damn angry_ at Cas to do much of anything else.

The past year had been a damn nightmare. And he wasn't sure what more he could handle.

At her nod, Sam rushed around and pulled up a chair for her. Dean shut the door behind her and leaned against it. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. She better not be about to drop some bomb on them - literally or figuratively. He needed to get back to being broody and pissed off at Cas. He wasn't finished being mad and breaking things just yet.

Sam calmly settled down on the edge of his bed and folded his hands out in front of him. He leaned forward on his elbows as they pressed against his knees, giving the woman – elf?! – his full attention. He tried to make his signature 'puppy dog face' (as Dean so affectionately called it) so she wouldn't be so intimidated by him and his glaring brother, but he was fairly certain all he managed to do was make himself look constipated.

He shook his head and decided to speak instead. "Okay, so. What's wrong? What can we help with?"

The elf looked up at him with pleading, terrified eyes.

"I need you to help me save Christmas."

 _"You'll be doin' all right, with your Christmas of white_  
 _But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue Christmas..."_

* * *

 **A/N: As a heads up, Cas will be a main character in this story, so he's not gone forever. Dean is just...Dean. _You know._ He's doing his broody thing. This was originally written with the intention of being a Cas/OC story, fyi, but it's taken me so long to post it (half out of pure hesitance and half because I always missed the holiday season and I feel that it's most appropriate to start this story during the holidays) that I could really go any way right now. I'm open to having some dialogue about it.**

 **I hope everyone is having a absolutely lovely holiday season so far. Thank you for reading, as always!**

 **Much love and stay tuned! xx**


	3. Chapter 3

" _Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays  
_ _'Cause no matter how far away you roam  
_ _When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze  
_ _For the holidays you can't beat home, sweet home…"_

Dean slammed his hand on the radio knob, surprised he'd even let the song go on for that long. Maybe he had been too stunned when the happy song came on, nearly blasting out his eardrums in the process, to do much of anything but stare at his center dash with surprise. Once he recovered, he whipped his head around to stare at the silent, wide eyed creature in the back of his car. She seemed even tinier on the Impala's bench-seat, sitting there with her green cloak drawn around her and her legs criss-crossed underneath her. She'd taken off her boots and set them in the footwell. A pair of maroon, woolen socks poked out from underneath the evergreen fabric that nearly covered her entire body.

The fading sun and crisp, idyllic wintry background fading from view with each mile the Impala drove…her eyes really lit up from her surroundings. The cold bite of the approaching winter, so small now, only nipping at their heels, but sure to grow stronger and stronger with each passing day, reflected in her bright blue irises. The setting sun in the rear window just barely played around the edges of her golden hair. She really was beautiful, Dean would admit. It seemed almost impossible not to think so. Even if she was supposedly an elf. And supposedly needed help saving _Christmas,_ of all things.

But she had just _messed with his damn radio._

"I apologize?" She questioned at his angry stare.

"How did you do that?" His voice was rough, nearly a growl. " _Why_ did you do that?"

Her arms came up to cross over her chest and Evelyn gave him a leveled look.

"I was nervous. You're making me _nervous_. You're going to _tear off_ that steering wheel."

Sam spoke up, "And when you're nervous you…spontaneously make Christmas songs play? How?"

The younger Winchester wasn't going to mention how appropriate their destination was for that song.

"Yes," she nodded, a little embarrassed. "It's, um, it's Christmas Magic."

"Christmas Ma- okay, no. No more talking. No." Dean almost barked. Sam wanted to ask so many more questions, but he also knew they had a few hours left of traveling to go, so he stayed silent. He shot Evelyn an apologetic look and she merely shrugged, casting her gaze out the window and watching the December sun start to dip low beneath the horizon.

The Impala was silent for a very long time after that – hours, in fact, the clock on the dashboard told Sam. Dean stared straight ahead, hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel despite Evelyn's concerns that he may end up getting them all killed. Sam eyed his brother's hands warily. They were beginning to turn white at the knuckles.

"Dean, maybe you should call-"

"Shut it."

Sam snapped his mouth shut at his brother's order and chanced another quick glance at the backseat. The strange elf was sitting there, strapped in tightly, with her hands clasped together on her lap now. Her eyes absently trailed out at the scenery through the window, the big, blue orbs filled with worry. Sam could see the tiredness swirling around inside of them. He wondered when she had last slept. And then he wondered if elves _did_ sleep at all.

It took a few more hours until the brothers and their unexpected holiday guest arrived at their destination. Dean practically jumped out of his car and took a quick and deep inhale of the familiar scent of pine and motor oil.

 _"If you want to be happy in a million ways  
For the holidays you can't beat home, sweet home..."_

"Damnit," Dean muttered as the song from earlier in the car started playing in his head.

Sam gingerly exited the Impala and, like a gentleman, opened Evelyn's door for her.

"Thank you," she mumbled meekly as her eyes took in the salvage yard before her. Car after car after wreck after wreck spread out all around. A jungle of parts and tools and machinery was laid out beyond the sleek, black car that she had traveled in.

"Where are we?" She asked Sam while taking a step back. A sharp prod into her back forced her to jolt forward. Sam gave his brother a warning look and Dean glared back at him from behind the elf.

"A friend's," the younger Winchester told her.

" _Walk_ ," Dean's gruff voice commanded from behind Evelyn, his finger still jammed into her back.

The trio walked in silence up the muddy path to an old farmhouse. The scent of pine and last night's rain filled the air. Evelyn had made a note during the drive over that rain was something she'd like to feel. It never rained in the North Pole. The crisp freshness that hung in the air after an early winter's rain was peaceful. Perhaps she would get to go out in it one day.

The porch creaked as they all stood on it, as if welcoming them itself. Evelyn was afraid it would crack and break under their combined weight but the brothers didn't seem too concerned. Thankfully the boards held up and the door was soon answered by a gruff looking man with a dirty cap on his head. A shotgun in hand, he had the barrel pointed right at them. He peered at the brothers from over the top and then set his eyes on Evelyn.

"What did you two idjits do this time?" He looked directly at Dean, lowering his gun and giving them a withering look.

Sam sighed, "Bobby, can we just come in? It's, uh, it's a lot."

Bobby's brows wrinkled further as he took in the serious looks on the brothers' faces. He opened the door wider and all three filed in. Bobby watched the small woman being prodded by Dean. Her golden curls bounced wildly as the eldest Winchester all but shoved her over the threshold.

They all gathered in Bobby's kitchen and Dean immediately went for the beer. He cracked open a bottle and took a long pull. In an attempt to soothe his pounding head he closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and pressed the chilled glass to his forehead. It didn't help much.

"Alright," Bobby started, "let's hear it. Whose the girl?"

"My name is-"

" _No_ ," Dean snapped out. "No talking."

Evelyn quickly closed her mouth, her eyes averting to the ground in an instant.

" _Dean,"_ Sam hissed out in a reprimand. "Sorry, Evelyn," he said quietly to the elf. She kept her eyes to the ground but nodded in acknowledgement.

Dean waved his hand dismissively, "She might, I don't know, make pine trees come out of our asses if she talks."

Sam looked at Evelyn and was pretty damn sure that one, it wasn't possible, and two, she wouldn't do that to them even if she _could_. He heard her mumble something that sounded like "that's not how it works?" before she pulled out one of Bobby's kitchen chairs and sat down.

Dean set his beer behind him and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the countertop. "Bobby, what do you know about elves?"

The old hunter stared at Dean for a split second before letting out a loud, bellowing laugh. Evelyn's head snapped up and she sent him a dirty look. A look so nasty on such a pleasant face struck Bobby and he stopped bellowing immediately.

"Wait," he said, "you're serious?"

Dean jerked his thumb over towards Evelyn, "She says she's an elf."

Bobby took in the woman, his eyes dissecting every feature.

"For the record," her soft voice spoke as Dean sent a glare her way, but she held up a delicate finger and continued, "I'm short for my kind."

Sam watched Bobby blink a few times before the older hunter looked at Dean, "Don't tell me she's a damn Chr-"

"Christmas elf," Dean nodded, still glaring, "yep."

"And she needs help-"

"Saving Christmas." Dean looked even _less_ pleased this time than he had back in the motel room.

Bobby finally turned to the woman in question and all he had to say was, "What."

Evelyn sighed impatiently, eyeing Dean as if to ask permission to speak to the older hunter. Dean merely nodded curtly, not happy to allow her room to talk but also not keen on trying to explain her delusions to Bobby himself.

"Yesterday morning, I was enjoying my tea when I heard a terrible stomping just outside of Little Hollow." She paused, knowing that Bobby would most certainly have questions already seeing as Dean absolutely had them when she had told him.

"Little Hollow is...where you live?" Bobby asked slowly.

"In _Christmasland_ ," Dean's drawl was exasperated, "it's in the _North Pole_."

"Ah," Bobby nodded skeptically, "Where _Santa Claus_ lives."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes but an encouraging look from Sam urged her to continue. "Yes. In the North Pole. Anyway, I went out to meet this stranger and he was the nastiest man I have ever encountered. Terrible attitude and positively no respect for anyone."

"He had an accent," Sam supplied.

Bobby raised his eyebrows and turned to Dean, "Crowley?" Dean nodded but remained silent.

Evelyn continued telling her story, of how Crowley grabbed her by the hair, dragged her to Christmastown, and killed Jeremy right in front of her. She was in the middle of recounting the moment Nick walked in when Bobby interrupted again.

"Wait, Nick as in...Saint Nicholas?"

"Yes," Evelyn said slowly.

" _Santa_ ," Dean's tone was still mocking and terse.

"Right," Bobby said slowly. "Continue."

"Well, he and Crowley got into a bit of a brawl and that's when Crowley made them both disappear. But not before he whispered the name Winchesters to me. And...not before _he_ broke out of his cage."

"Who is he?" Bobby asked, eyeing both brothers and wondering what their role in this could possibly be. Why would _Santa Claus_ know about the Winchesters?

Dean adjusted his crossed arms over his chest, " _He_ would be Krampus."

"Krampus?!" Bobby nearly laughed again. "He's an urban legend."

"This is about the point where Dean told Evelyn to 'can it' and told us both to get in the car," Sam added.

"He's not an urban legend," Evelyn retorted stubbornly. "He's _real_ and he's currently desolating Christmasland. Nick isn't there to stop him and it's only a matter of time before Crowley finds out that he doesn't have the correct book and when that happens we are _all_ quite doomed because the combined forces of Krampus and Crowley inevitably getting the book is not at all goo-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Bobby held out his hands and the tiny elf immediately closed her mouth, ending her rant. "Slow down. Why does Nick have to stop Krampus?"

"I thought in the legends Saint Nicholas and Krampus rode out together," Sam wondered. "Didn't Saint Nick praise the good kids and Krampus punish the bad?"

"In the beginning, yes," Evelyn explained. "But Krampus got too out of hand. He wouldn't just punish the naughty, he would torture them. He even went as far as killing them. It was gruesome. Sometimes he would drown the children or set them ablaze. He'd whip them with bundles of sticks until they bled. He'd chain them up and hang them upside down for days on end until...well, you know." She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the images.

"Nick knew he had to stop him," she continued. "So, he locked Krampus in a cage far underground that first year. But, on the eve of Saint Nicholas Day, Krampus broke out. He was livid at Nick for imprisoning him under the earth and he attacked him. Nick barely managed to defeat him and push him back in the cage. It had taken Krampus all year to break out, to dig his way up through the ground. So it would take him another year to do it again. Krampus vowed to break out every year and threatened to devour every soul on earth, naughty _or_ nice, should Nick fail to defeat him again. That day became known as-"

"Krampusnacht," Sam finished, piecing everything together.

Evelyn nodded.

"And Crowley took good ol' Saint Nick," Bobby said, earning a slight glare from the elf at the nickname, "which means..."

"He's loose," Dean said. "He could make his way out of Christmasland, right?" He paused, "Oh, great. Now _I'm_ starting to sound crazy."

"Yes," Evelyn said tersely, "he's _loose_. And you two are apparently the only ones who can help me put him back _in_."

"Why you?" Bobby asked and at her scathing look he continued, "I mean, because, you're so small...?"

She glared at the hunter as he trailed off, seeing that his clarification had only made things worse. She eventually sighed and reached around to the bag hanging at her side under her cloak. Tiredly, she pulled out an incredibly large, leather bound book.

"Because I have _this_."

The three men stared at the humongous tome in her hands, all briefly wondering how she was able to hold it up so effortlessly. It practically exuded majesty. The beautiful binding, the delicate scrollwork on the front, the gold-leafed pages. Although it was clearly old, the three knew it was somehow extremely important, and not just to the little elf standing before them and claiming that the most festive time of the year was about to go to hell in a hand basket.

"Is that…?" Sam trailed off, not entirely wanting to be the one to voice it.

Evelyn's attention was no longer on the three pairs of eyes staring at her, but instead was turned to the book, her gaze looking down fondly as she ran a hand over the cover. She answered Sam almost wistfully, in reverence of the treasure she was holding.

"Yeah," she breathed, a slight smile coming onto her face. She chose that moment to look back up at them.

"The Book of the Naughty and the Nice."

* * *

 **A/N: Song used for this chapter is "Home for the Holidays" performed by Perry Como.**

 **Much love to all who have viewed this festive adventure. Stay tuned! xx**


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